Born from the Hearth
by The Pencil Of The Gods
Summary: A chance meeting brings for a pair of new possibilities. An man burdened by bitter loss and a loning to return home, meets the goddess of hearth, home and family. From these two comes the first ever children of Hestia, the twins of hearth and home, Florian and Joseph. This their story; the children born from the hearth.
1. Chapter 1

Born From The Hearth

Hestia rarely ventured out of Camp Half-Blood, even if it was via splitting her consciousness, as other the other gods often do. She simply found no need to do so, preferring to focus her time and power on tending to the hearth; not just the one in Camp Half-Blood, but all those around America, where the Heart of the West lay.

Of course, that was not to say that did not occasionally interact with mortals – she was, in the end, an Olympian much like the rest of them, and enjoyed the company of mortals, albeit in a different way from her family. She loved to hear their stories – not the grand, far-reaching tales that most gods preferred, but the small, seemingly unimportant ones they told to each other by the fireside, the stories of their lives and the minute events that took place day-by-day.

These were, for her, the best kind of stories there were. No matter how great the hero, they had all begun at home, and it was the small events that took place there that shaped them. Hestia enjoyed watching these little beginnings, and was silently proud that she'd had a hand, despite how small it was, in raising every hero known to man. From Herakles to Percy Jackson, she was there, her influence silently watching over them, not interfering but at the same time, making sure that these heroes could find shelter from the trials of the outside world as they stepped into their refuge and her one sacred place – home.

Occasionally, Hestia would take physical form and visit certain households, ones that met certain criteria. Homes that were beset with troubles brought down to them through no fault of their own, homes that were wrecked by petty squabbles of the gods, and homes that were torn apart for unknowingly involving themselves in the world of the Olympians. Hestia blessed these families with whatever was within her power, so for a time, none could trouble home and family, and they could recover from the harshness of the world.

It was during one particular outing that she met the one mortal that had captured her interest like no other had.

It was from this meeting that the twins of Hestia were born

* * *

Hestia walked through the streets of the unassuming village. She'd come from paying a visit to one of the poorer locals, who's sister died after unfortunately getting caught in-between a demigod and a rather nasty duo of Lamia's. Once the family was finished grieving today after the girls' funeral, they would be surprised to find their house completely free from faults and a warm meal over a roaring fire waiting for them.

She smiled proudly at her handy work and was just about to go to a nice, unnoticeable spot where she could promptly vanish without notice, when she felt something . . . warm, tug at her senses.

It was a warmth she was very familiar with; she was the _goddess _of the hearth, after all.

_Strange, _she thought. She wasn't aware of any demigods nearby, and only they could call upon her from the hearth.

The goddess walked towards the source of the warmth – perhaps it was an unclaimed demigod? In that case, Hestia may as well bring him or her back to Camp and save Chiron and the other half-bloods the trouble.

The calling from the hearth was coming from a large house that seemed to radiate depression. Actually, calling it a house would be an insult to houses everywhere; this place didn't feel like a home, it felt like a _warehouse_, big and lifeless.

The house was neat, but overall not very well cared for. The paint was faded from wind and rain, and the fences were wrecked and termite eaten. The metal gate look rusted and parts of it were bent.

The one thing Hestia could look positively on was that the plants where obviously well-cared for. The flowers and vegetables looked vibrant, in stunning contrast to the dying house.

Perhaps whoever lived here was a child of Demeter?

Hestia walked straight through the fence, not bothering to climb over it. The call of the hearth resonated with her once again, and being this close to the source, she could feel the sadness and longing coming from whoever was 'sacrificing' to her. Well, not necessarily sacrificing to 'her', seeing as whoever was using the fire was not calling to her specifically, but there was something in whoever was there that resounded within her.

How strange.

She couldn't sense anyone inside the house, but there was one presence nearby, just in the back, in what she presumed was the backyard of the building. That was good. She'd hate to have to enter this persons home uninvited – not only was it rudeness in the extremes, but it would go against everything she stood for as a goddess. That aside, she didn't want to have to knock on the door and introduce herself, which, in all honesty, was a tad demeaning and embarrassing for her as a goddess.

The closer she got to the backyard, the more she could feel the call. She could see a small outdoor chimney in the area, along with the smell of burning wood and meat.

She arrived at the backyard and saw a lone man seated on a wooden stool, cooking beef inside an outdoor chimney.

* * *

The man seemed to have noticed her. He looked surprised.

"Well, what are you doing here little girl?"

Hestia blinked a little, before remembering what she probably looked like to the man; a lost little girl covered in soot. She struggled to piece together an answer him when he simply chuckled.

"Oh what does it matter? Say, are you hungry?" he asked, nodding towards the beef being cooked.

Hestia remained silent and the man blinked. "Oh! My, whoops, that probably sounds suspicious to you doesn't it?" he said, looking sheepish. "Are you lost?"

Snapping out of her thoughts, Hestia shook her head. "No, I was just . . ." She trailed off unsure of what to say. She couldn't very well tell him that she came here following the feel of a possible offering to her, and that she had suspected he was a half-blood of the ancient Olympian gods.

". . . attracted by the smell," she said quickly after a brief glance at the cooking meat. She was glad for that piece of hearth for giving her an excuse.

The man stared then chuckled. "So you _are _hungry?"

Playing along with her lie, Hestia nodded. She wanted to find out the mystery behind this man's calling her, albeit unconsciously.

"Well, if you're not too scared of this old codger, perhaps you'd like a bite?" he said, gesturing towards the food, which looked just about ready to eat. "It's not much, but I don't mind sharing."

Hestia nodded again, and approached him steadily. He smiled and got a plate nearby, placing the beef on top of it.

"Would you like seasonings?" he asked, nodding towards a table set with spices and various herbs.

Again, the small goddess nodded, and the man smiled. "What would you like? Salt, pepper, or . . . ?"

Hestia just walked to the table and served herself. Satisfied, the man went to get his own helping, and the two settled into a comfortable silence as they ate.

Now that she was up close, Hestia had to admit, the man was older than she'd thought. He had worn, wrinkled eyes, the left of which was a dull gray – a clear sign that he could no longer see through it. His hair had streaks of white in it, and despite the fact that he had a large body, she could tell that every movement he made inspired his back and legs to ache, which caused his eyes to scrunch a little in indication. She estimated he was probably in his mid-fifties or early sixties.

She wondered what exactly was within this man that called out to her. As far as she was aware, this man was no demigod, nor was he even the legacy of one. He was just a normal, simple, mortal.

"So," he said, breaking the silence and her train of thought, "what's a petite thing like you doing alone in a dreary place like this? Where are your parents, at home?"

Hestia shook her head.

"No? Well, where are they?"

"I . . . don't have parents." Technically true, as the Titaness Rhea was missing and her consort, Hestia's father, Kronos, was dead, scattered across the world, for now, at least.

The man's eyes widened. "Ah . . . are you an orphan, then?" Suddenly he smacked himself in the face, looking as if he'd said something stupid. "Oops, sorry, that was an insensitive question."

"So, um, what's your name?" he said, quickly shifting the topic.

Hestia smiled at his attempt at being sensitive to her supposed situation. Whoever he was, the man had good heart at least.

"I'm He-" the goddess caught herself before accidentally revealing her name. She didn't know why; there was no harm in simply telling him her name – it wasn't as if it would be significant to him. Still, she refrained from doing so. She felt that . . . that it wasn't time. Not yet.

"Hearth," she continued. It was the best name she could think up on the spot, but she thought it suited her nicely.

"Just Hearth?" he asked.

Hestia nodded in affirmation.

"Huh, so . . . um, Hearth, what _are _you doing here? Where do you live?"

Hestia struggled to think of an answer. It dawned on her that it had been _centuries _since she'd talked to a mortal that was unaware of her true identity. She was out of touch with the world, she realized.

The man, on the other hand, took her stiff silence as an indication that she was uncomfortable with his question.

"I guess that was a bad question too huh?" he said, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. " F'course a kid like you wouldn't have a good place to live, unless it was an orphanage."

Hestia, glad at the man's misunderstanding, nodded in a manner that could pass as reserved. "Yes, I live in an orphanage," she answered.

The man nodded. "Ah, I suspected as much. Why are you covered in dirt, by the way?"

"I was cleaning the hearth," answered the goddess.

The man stared at Hestia, as if trying to figure something out. "Hearth . . . you mean you were named after a fireplace?"

Hestia didn't know who she was more annoyed at: Herself for forgetting what the hearth was usually referred to in modern times, or modern people for changing its name. She decided to let it go for now, but clearly her face showed a little of her displeasure, because the man looked sheepish again.

"Woah! No need to pout like that Hearth! So I take it you don't like your job . . . or name?"

Hestia was probably frowning even deeper, because the man inched away a little bit.

"I like my job very much, thank you," she answered evenly, yet looking at him sternly in the eye. Honestly! Just because it wasn't the most glorious of duties in Olympus, doesn't mean she did not enjoy watch she did. Humble work it may be, but it was an important job, and someone had to do it.

"Uh, you do?" he said, unsure of what to make of that. "I guess if it's fine with you . . ."

"It is!" insisted Hestia.

"Okay okay," said the old man with a chuckle. "So, how's the food?"

Hestia looked at her plate, and was about to take another bite when she'd realized she'd already finished her plate. She remembered taking the first bite, but afterwards . . .

Her eyes widened as the memory of viciously delicious attacks on her palette resurfaced from her memories.

"It's good!" she concluded enthusiastically, temporarily losing a little of her Olympian grace. By the gods it _was _good! It wasn't in the herbs and spices, because she had added that _afterwards _it had been cooked, and they were only mediocre at best. No, the deliciousness came from how the meat itself was cooked.

"How did you . . . ?" said Hestia. It wasn't the best meal she'd eaten, as nothing on earth could match the taste of nectar and ambrosia, which tasted like whatever you wanted to, but for this man to make such a filling meal with nothing but the simple things he had with him, was impressive to say the least.

The man laughed. "My, that's a bit of an overreaction, I think. It's nothing special really!"

Hestia disagreed.

"So," said the small goddess, helping herself to more food, "what's your name, sir?"

The man blinked. "Well, in all the excitement of having someone to talk to, it looks like I've forgotten my manners."

"I'm Pierre Daclan, it's a very nice to meet you, Hearth," said the man. He extended his arm in greeting and smiled.

Hestia smiled back and shook Pierre's outstretched hand. In the current form she was in, her child-sized hand was completely enveloped in the man's own large hand.

"What are you doing, living here all alone?" asked Hestia.

The look on the Pierre's face immediately told Hestia that it was her turn to apologize for asking a bad question.

"No, never mind, I apologize," said Hestia, backtracking.

"There's no need to apologize, Hearth. It's fine."

_No it's not, _thought Hestia. His expression on face was . . . it was _strange_. That was the only way she could describe it. The expression was not one of pain, or anger even. It was an expression full of emotion, yet was wrapped tightly by longing and sadness.

"This place . . . well, in simple terms, it's my home."

Hestia nodded, waiting for Pierre to continue.

"I was born and raised here," he made a gesture towards the building, a smile on his face, "as was my own family."

To Hestia, it was understandable that he'd want to live here. She well understood the attachment people had to their home. But there was one thing that was she did not understand . . .

"Your family?" she questioned. "But there's no one here."

The man smiled, but in Hestia's opinion, it was rather forced and painful looking.

"Ah, well, they aren't around anymore."

Hestia flinched. Of _course_ that was the case.

"I'm sorry," she said. Again, it seemed they had swapped places, and the goddess was asking all the wrong questions.

Pierre didn't respond to her apology, and continued on, still smiling. "Even if they aren't here anymore, I continue to take care of this place. It's hard – I may have enough money to take care of this place, but not nearly enough time to maintain it. Plus . . . I don't see the point in making it look too good," he said with a reserved smile.

"What happened?" Hestia blurted out uncharacteristically. As he talked, she felt something coming from him, a kind of _pull, _like whenever people sacrifice and pray to her, but much _stronger._

She had the urge to find out more about him, to understand why this person valued home so and why he called out to her unconsciously.

Suddenly, she realized that she was asking him to dig up old and painful wounds. She frowned. This wasn't like her. Usually she had more restraint than this.

"I'm –," she began, apologizing again.

Pierre cut her off. "Don't apologize. If anything, I want to thank you, hanging out with a crusty old guy like me."

He looked at her in the eyes, and Hestia felt the urge to pull back. His honest stare embarrassed her for some reason.

"My parents died," he began, "about ten years ago now. Mom died of cancer, and Dad couldn't cope. He was never really strong hearted, like that. They'd died just three years after I got back from that mess at Lebanon."

He shook his head. "I was already married when they died, so my wife and kids helped me cope, so I didn't have much of a hard time accepting their deaths.

"Lebanon?" said Hestia. She'd heard about that. Ares was glad for a chance to see some action and bloodshed, and mentioned the upcoming campaign to practically everyone on Olympus. "You are a soldier, then?"

Peter smiled. It seemed a little forced in Hestia's opinion. "Lt Col. Pierre Daclan, United States Marine Corps," he said with a small salute. "I served for two years there, my own choice, and came back when it all ended.

"Then, three years afterwards, the Gulf War began, and of course, I had to be there. My kids, adorable little twins, were only seven at the time. I can still remember; I hugged my wife and said, 'Don't worry! I'll be back home in a year, you just wait for me hon'!"

Pierre snorted bitterly.

"It was really hell on earth there, you know? Kid, if you can avoid it, never, _ever_ get involved in war. It's not pretty, or glorious, or whatever junk they make up in those Greek storybooks. There's no respect for the enemy, no dying gloriously and epically. It was all I could to remind myself, 'Get up! You've got a family to feed and a place to come back to, you promised!'."

"In the end, I got out of that hell-hole, and back to an empty home." He leaned back, looking so pained and fragile, Hestia thought that touching the man might've broken him.

"What happened to them?" she said quietly. Hestia was almost too afraid to ask what happened. It looked as if having to answer her question would end up breaking him.

"It . . . was a robbery. No one's sure what happened, but the police thought that she might've seen their faces. In any case, not one of my family was alive to see me come home."

Hestia could only watch silently as beads of tears formed around his wrinkled eyes. She regretted bringing up his wounds, but felt that it was necessary, if she was to get closer to him.

_Wait? Get closer to him?_ Why had she thought that?

Pierre continued, shaking the goddess from her thoughts. "I was raised all my life, told that home is the one place where you can find peace, and the one place you gotta do your damnedest to protect. I went through all kinds of hell and back to protect it, and in the end, after all my suffering, there was no home to return to."

Pierre closed his eyes, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, unmindful of her presence here. Hestia decided it was time for a quick change of topic.

"Your garden is very nice."

Pierre didn't respond, but Hestia continued talking. "I can see it's really well taken care of. Even after everything that's happened, you pay attention to it."

"It was my wife's idea," said Pierre suddenly, eyes still closed. "She insisted on growing it, along with or children. She said that it would be a symbol of us raising them."

"Your wife sounds like a very nice woman."

"Nice doesn't even begin to describe Marianne," he said, grinning a little. "She was practically a saint, putting up with me all those years! Hey, do you wanna know a little secret?"

Hestia was relieved that she had been able to drag him out of his depression, if only by a little. She nodded.

The man's grin grew wider. "Marianne was the one that proposed to _me._"

"What?"

"Yes! Back then, I was too nervous to work up the courage to ask her hand in marriage. I'd freeze up just thinking about it!" he said with a laugh. "But sweet Mari, bless her soul, she saw right through me, and asked me out on a date to the Hoover Dam. She was so forceful that time, a real change from her usual reserved attitude, so of course I accepted.

"Imagine my surprise when she got down on one knee and proposed!"

Pierre was laughing, reliving cherished memories. He looked a lot younger like this, thought Hestia. Seeing him now, she couldn't help but wonder if he was perhaps younger than he looked.

* * *

The two talked for a long while after that, though truthfully it was Pierre who did most of the talking. They switched topics every now and then, careful not to stray too deeply on the topic of his family, and as the hours stretched on, Hestia realized exactly what it was that called her to this man.

He was a man that lived for home and family, who cared for it with all his being. He had gone through so much, and in the end he was repaid with emptiness and misery. Pierre was a man who had fought for home.

Hestia realized as well, that even if it had disappeared from him, he still searched for it; another home, another hearth.

The goddess knew very well that a home was much more than a building. It was a place where your heart lay and could be at peace, where you could weather the storms of the outside.

He may have lost it once, but his heart still called for a place to call home, and so that meant his heart called out to _her. _Everything she was as a goddess, as a _living being _could not allow a man such as Pierre a lot like this. He did everything she expected a mortal must do for his family and more, and lost everything for it.

_Very well, _she thought, even as her she continued to listen to him talk. _I will do it. I will give him a home again._


	2. Chapter 2

Hestia regularly visited Pierre after that first meeting. It was not a set schedule, indeed there were some days where she was unable to meet with him due to his work, but she met with him at least thrice a week.

They did not do much, idle chatter or perhaps a grilled meal much like the one she had enjoyed when they first met. Still, this was enough for Hestia to get to know Pierre more, and the more she knew about him, the more she enjoyed being around him.

He was every bit the kind soul she had thought he was and more. Even suffering as he was, he restrained himself from lashing out at others, and did his best to not destroy himself with guilt, a trait that indicated a strong will, one comparable or even greater to the heroes of the past, for while it took patience and control not to hurt others, it took great bravery and heart to be able to let go of regret and forgive oneself.

Though a trace of bitterness remained, which was only natural, he had indeed come to terms with the loss of his family very quickly– this very trait allowed him to reach out to her, for he had accepted that he lost his home and now searched for a new one. Had he still lingered on his tragedy, his heart would have been confused, and would have never reached her.

Pierre was also rather fond of donkeys, a fact that she had discovered after he had invited her to tea inside his house one morning. He had one as pet when he was younger, and apparently has loved the simple creatures ever since then.

Hestia found his love for her own sacred creature to be a sign that she was destined to meet him. The alternative was of course, that it was simple coincidence, but she had been a goddess long enough to know that there was no such thing as coincidence.

Still, even as she got to know him better, she pondered over how to go about restoring his 'home' to him. A 'home' was more than a structure; it was a place of feeling and refuge, a sanctuary where one could be free to smile as much as they liked. An empty home with nothing to come back to was meaningless.

In the short, beautiful words of some mortal philosopher, 'home is where the heart is'.

So how could the Goddess of Home restore Pierre's heart? She had been seeing him regularly for three months now, and she was still nowhere near finding a way around this problem.

The answer to her question came from the man himself, or more specifically, the picture he enshrined above the hearth of his home.

Hestia knocked on the door of Pierre's home. A moment later, the man opened the door with a smile.

"Well Hearth, you're here rather early today. Are you done with your chores at the orphanage?"

Hestia nodded. As far as he knew, Hearth was an orphan girl from some obscure institution nearby. Pierre's nature of not prying had ensured that he wouldn't notice something was amiss with her any time soon. As of now, her guise was perfect.

"Come on in then. I'm sure you're getting bored just standing there," he said. Hestia nodded and entered his home, rubbing her sandals on the mat just at the entrance before doing so. It was actually just for show. Her sandals may look dirty, but they'd never leave filth on the floor even if she had just walked over muddied ground.

Pierre looked at her with teasing eyes while saying, "So, what will it be this time? Chess, Checkers, Game of the Generals, Snakes and Ladders or maybe Mythomagic?"

"How about snacks instead?" she answered succinctly. Those were board games they had played recently to pass the time. When she was first introduced to them, she had indulged him out of simple curiosity, but as time flew by and more games were played, Hestia found herself growing slightly competitive; it turned out that Pierre was insanely good at board games. Eventually, the goddess simply found that she had grown tired of playing with him. The games served no purpose in the grand scheme of things, and were an unnecessary activity.

Truthfully, though? Hestia was just wanted a break from losing all the time.

"Of course," said Pierre, eyes twinkling with amusement, "we'll save the fun for later."

The goddess huffed petulantly and followed Pierre into the living room. The television was on and Hestia could smell the tea on the table, next to a couple dozen of cookies. Pierre was something of a tea addict, drinking it at least seven times a day.

"Would you like some?" said Pierre, who was looking at Hestia looking at the drink.

She nodded her head. "Yes please."

The man procured a teabag and a mug of hot water and handed it to her. Hestia nodded gratefully and thanked him, before taking some of the cookies for herself. She spotted a small magazine about home decoration on top of a wooden chair. The front cover had a marble fireplace with intricate figures carved into it. Hestia recognized the carvings at the front to be a Greek tableau.

Hestia grabbed it eagerly and began reading.

Pierre slumped into a brown Laz-e-boy, and took a look at the TV. The news was on and the reporter was talking about the rising tension between the US and some middle-eastern country. Pierre scowled at the news.

"War's gonna break out," he muttered under his breath. "Those morons . . ."

Hestia looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

The man blinked before laughing embarrassedly. "Oh, don't mind me Hearth; I'm just talking to myself. It's nothing."

The goddess doubted that, but did not pry further. She focused again on the magazine, wondering if she could get Chiron interested in some remodeling . . .

It was afternoon when Hestia and Pierre began their game of chess. Hestia was white while Pierre was black. Games like these were more Athena's forte, but even Hestia had some pride as a goddess. She would not lose this time!

"Check," said Pierre with a grin. It was the seventh turn.

Hestia _restrained_ herself from flipping the table.

"Rematch," she muttered quietly.

Pierre laughed, "Whatever you say, Hearth."

The two set the board again. After her third turn, the game paused for a long stretch of time as Hestia pondered her next move. Her queen was exposed and the only way she could save it was by devouring the piece by threatening it, or blocking the way with her pawn. However, if she followed the former, then her queen would subsequently be eaten by Pierre's own pawn, and if she followed the latter, then she would leave her bishop open to its black counterpart.

Pierre's chuckle broke her out of her thoughts.

"What is it?" she questioned, slightly irritated. Not so much because she thought he was laughing at her, but because his laughter was _awfully_ nice to listen to, and therefore made it _very_ hard to think.

"Oh it's nothing; it's just that you make the same face my son did whenever he played chess. He'd scrunch up his face whenever he was cornered and deciding on a move."

Hestia stared at him, "I didn't realize I was making a face."

Pierre laughed again, and Hestia completely forgot about making her next move.

"Most people rarely do!"

Hestia shook her head and began rethinking her next move, but the more she thought, the more she'd think about what he'd just said.

'My son' he'd said. The more she thought about it, the more ideas began to form in her head. She took a look at his fireplace, which seemed to have warmed suddenly, as if it were a beacon calling out to her. On top of it was a single picture, framed in carved wood.

The picture was that of Pierre and his diseased family. She'd long since seen pictures of the wife, somewhere here and there, but this was the first time she'd seen a picture of his children.

The man caught her looking, and smiled wistfully. "That was the only picture I ever took with them," he said. "It was when I just left for the war. It was supposed to be something for them to remember me by while I was away. Funny how it's the opposite now, isn't it?"

Hestia nodded absentmindedly. In her mind, a plan was beginning to form.

"Um, Mr. Pierre," she began, "if . . . if you could have kids again, but kid's that weren't your own . . . would you accept them, and . . . perhaps take care of them?"

Pierre stared at her for a minute, before smiling warmly.

"I'm doing so now, aren't I?"

With those words, the final gear of her plan clicked into place, and Hestia gave a glowing smile of her own to Pierre. She knew what she had to do.

An hour and one chess match later, and Hestia had to greet Pierre good-bye. She'd never been this excited before, not even since Priapus had snuck up on her that one time in her bedroom. The goddess was sure that this plan could not fail to bring life back to Pierre's home, but there was one person she needed to talk to before she could be sure she could pull it off.

Hestia travelled to Olympus as fast as she could. She needed to talk with Athena.


	3. Chapter 3

Aphrodite walked through the halls of Olympus, turning heads as was usual when she passed by.

She gave a small smirk to a passing wind god, who blushed and sighed out gusts of wind. She winked at a minor water god, who promptly melted into a puddle – literally. She gave a sultry lick of her lips to a cute little nymph that was serving nectar to some minor goddess. The sweet thing turned deep green before a tree stood where she was a second ago and the goddess drinking nectar next to her blushed bright red before choking on her drink.

The Goddess of Love laughed at these quick and satisfying conquests, and the sound reverberated through Olympus, causing every living thing around her to shiver with desire.

Yes, Aphrodite absolutely loved love, and loved spreading it around even more. It didn't matter if she broke some hearts or caused some tragedies along the way, after all, 'it's better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all', right?

Of course, it was for this reason that there were certain gods that earned her ire, a pair of gods that rejected her kind of love and thus, rejected herself by extension: Two of the so-called 'Virgin Goddesses', Hestia, and Artemis.

It was the reason why she tried her hardest to ruin the Goddess of the Hunts day whenever she could – Artemis, was, in her opinion, the worst of the three. At least Athena admitted that she fell in love, and though she was still a virgin she acted on her love in what was probably the 'wisest' way how, considering her oath. Aphrodite could respect that, at least.

Artemis, on the other hand, actively rejected love. She spurned it at every turn and killed it whenever it showed up nearby, like it was some wild animal (knowing Artemis that was probably what she saw it as) and butchered it wherever it appeared. The closest Aphrodite had gotten to changing her was with Orion, but that ended up horribly – the little wench ended up killing the gorgeous hunter (or perhaps it was Apollo, though Aphrodite didn't care for the details) and killing her last shot at true love.

As for Hestia . . . well, that was a difficult subject for her. While she definitely disliked that the goddess had chosen to take an oath on her maidenhood, it didn't mean that she outright rejected love, but at the same time, her indifference to it was maddening to Aphrodite.

The Goddess of Love felt that Hestia only needed to be exposed to the wonders and passions of love, and she would see the light. So what if terrible things happened if she broke her vow? _Everything _was allowable for the sake of love!

But the problem lied in that Hestia . . . didn't get out much. Or at _all_, now that she thought about it, and she couldn't force her out – Hestia was the peacemaker, and had many allies and friends in Olympus, Zeus himself included. She couldn't cause her trouble without fearing for heavy repercussions like she did with Artemis.

"Thank you very much for agreeing to meet with me, dear Athena."

Ah, speak of the devil . . . er, goddess.

Athena and Hestia were seated around a table with a chessboard on top of it. It seemed the two were having a discussion as they played.

Aphrodite sneaked over a bit. It was rare that Hestia came to Olympus, so anything she had to talk about was probably important.

"No need to thank me, esteemed auntie," said Athena, smiling slightly. Hestia smiled back.

"Now now, there's no need to call me that, Athena. Brother Zeus asides, we're all equal gods in Olympus."

Athena shook her head as she moved a pawn. "Of course, but this is my way of showing respect to you. You're the eldest of the Olympians, and the wisest as well."

"I would have to disagree," said Hestia. She hesitated a bit before moving her horse, "you are the Goddess of Wisdom, after all. I'd hate to consider taking your job."

"I am only the Goddess of Wisdom because it is what I am known for and what I act upon, while you are content to stay on the sidelines, which is an act of wisdom in itself. I am sure that were you in my place, you would have made the right decisions."

"Athena," said Hestia, "are you perhaps talking about the Romans?"

Aphrodite couldn't see Athena's face from where she was hiding, but she sorely wished she could.

"Don't worry yourself over your grudge with the Romans, dear Athena. What you've done is only natural. You lost much to the Romans, after all."

"Were you in my place, aunt, I know you would not have done what I did. You cannot deny that. For all my talents in the arts, I've yet to completely master the fine art of self-restraint," the voice of the goddess was tired and worn, and laced with regret. A queen rested in her hand, and had yet to move.

Hestia laughed lightly, a sound that seemed to calm the thickening air.

"Athena, dear Athena, you put too much pressure on yourself. If you would allow me to be so arrogant as to believe that I am indeed wiser than you, then allow me to give me some advice: the greatest kind of wisdom is the one that can learn.

"I am but a side-character. I can only make the small, obvious choice, but you can _learn _Athena. You do not have to remain constant like I do. The wisest of people are the ones that make mistakes and learn from them."

The two of them went silent. The only sound that could be heard around them was the soft landing of wooden chess pieces.

"I . . . see. If that is your advice, I can make do following it, auntie."

Hestia laughed. "See that you do, dear Athena, by the way, I believe its checkmate."

The smile on Athena's face said otherwise. "Agreed, check," said Athena as her queen devoured the opposing piece, leaving Hestia's King exposed, "and mate."

Hestia made a face. "Oh. I was sure I'd gotten you!"

"Better luck next time, dear auntie."

Hestia sighed in resignation as she waved her hand, and at once the chess board disappeared.

"So," began Athena, "what was it that you wished to talk about?"

"Ah, yes, if you would allow me to be straight forward, dear Athena, how is it exactly that you make children?"

Aphrodite, who had so far been hidden, had been dozing off, growing bored of their oh-so deep and philosophic discussion, however, at the mention of _making children _(an act that she was _very _much fond of) her head and interest perked up, and she found herself again inching closer to the two.

Athena was dumbfounded at the question.

"Uh, dearest auntie . . . are you quite _sure _you are not familiar with the acts of reproduction after all these years . . .?"

"No!" said a flushed Hestia. "Not that! I know about that already. I was talking about _you _specifically, about your special method of producing children."

Athena raised a brow. "Well, while I am not sure why you ask me of this, dear aunt, I don't see a problem in telling you."

With a wave of her hands, a shimmering golden light shaped into a ball behind her. The sense of power behind it could be felt from even where Aphrodite had hidden herself. Several minor gods and spirits turned their heads at the sudden rush of energy that washed over them.

"I'm sure you are familiar with how demigods are normally produced, correct?"

Hestia nodded her head. "When a god sleeps with a mortal, it is ichor that is released, rather than usual. This is what makes demigods special, correct?"

"Yes" said Athena, "but the thing that makes it different from how mortals normally procreate is that ichor is not exclusive to our reproductive system - simply put, it is our entire being. It is the _only _vital fluid of the gods. We do not have blood or water or any other liquid in our bodies' asides this."

"Aaah, I see . . . So that is your method?"

Athena nodded. "It's not as simple as what you are thinking, but that is the basics of it. I simply merge my ichor with that of a mortals 'thoughts.' It does not take nine months for the child to form, but once it has, it is like any other demigod."

"Hm . . . when you say born from their thoughts, how exactly is that accomplished?"

"Unusual . . . but a valid question I suppose. Well, it's not as if I am keeping my methods of siring children a secret, so I suppose I could explain it."

The golden ball of light behind her shifted shape, and resemble a human fetus.

"You know about how I was born, fully grown and from the head of my father." The golden fetus behind her shifted its shape into that of a woman, holding a spear and shield, and adorned in armor. "Whenever I find a mortal than I genuinely love, his thoughts are the things that draw me to him, so it is that I focus on. Using my abilities as a god, I draw upon his thoughts, and I give them life and spirit, and using my own ichor, I give it form. It is in this way that the children of Athena are born."

Hestia nodded her head. "I see . . . while the method is generally sound . . . yes that could work. Tell me, dear Athena, is it possible for your method to be used by other gods?"

"I am not sure," said Athena after some pause, "theoretically, it can be done, but there are circumstances. I am able to draw out the thoughts of a mortal and give it life because it is my domain. If another god seeks to replicate my method, then one must also find a suitable substitute for the thoughts that only I can draw upon."

Athena gave Hestia a strange look. "Um . . . esteemed aunt, I hope you do not mind me asking, but why is it that you ask me these questions? Are you perhaps planning to . . . ?"

Hestia smiled in acknowledgment and nodded. "Yes, I am planning to use your method of creating demigods for myself."

Whatever Hestia or Athena were going to say next was interrupted by Aphrodite's high-pitched squeal of utter delight.


End file.
